It could feel a million things, and i’d love to make a list. But from those experiencing a) through d), at the moment, I’m noticing a super prevalent notion that: ‘it’ doesn’t feel like ‘it’.

Whatever ‘it’ is – it always seems to feel not like it should.

But I wonder why we’re thinking so critically – I mean, no one has ever been here before.

In every moment, isn’t it cool to think that the experience is unwritten? You literally, have never been there before, at that age, with that mindset, in this place, with that plan, beside (or without) some person?

While everybody is busy chasing their dreams by living in New York, Graduating double-degrees, trekking trough Norway, landing boss jobs, and kicking absolute goals on (and off) field – there’s a strange commonality, a kind-of brotherhood semblance between us all:

Nothing feels like ‘it’.

Even up until boarding my flight, I didn’t feel like I was going away to travel the latest beaut locations on my bucket list and live in one of my favourite spots on earth. Even my friends, who are living in NYC still can’t believe they’ve moved a million miles away.

But I wonder about how we have this delirious craving for trying to make sense of everything, reaching to feel something familiar when the very essence of it all, is the total opposite – unfamiliar?

The fact is, everything is shiny brand new, and there’s no way in hell to know what it feels like.

Every encroaching minute is new territory, uncharted waters, and I for one, definitely don’t have a map (or data on my international sim card in fact, to download one).

Bottom line: this is a rookie life.

So get lost. No, better than that, stay lost and stop trying to know or feel like you should about ‘it’. The feeling doesn’t exist yet, it’s vanilla, but it’s waiting for you to make, break, look it square in the eye, grab it with both hands and top it with strawberries, oreos, chia seeds, donuts, cronuts, something matcha flavoured and gummy bears.

Not that I’ve put a deadline on things, but yeah look, if I haven’t gradated by 2017, someone intervene. And if I haven’t been to Scandinavia before I’m 25, somebody needs to steal me away. I have plans, or maybe they are goals I’m not sure – but I am sure that I want them to happen, and I have a rough outline of a sketched timeline in my head of where everything fits. It’s perfect and I’d show it to you, but it’s in my head.

Maybe it’s another social norm I’m trying to comply by – I think I need to have a plan because that’s what you’re supposed to do, right? Everybody has plans, and it’s duly noted (especially by the Personal Trainer fraternity, you know who you are) ‘if you fail to plan, you plan to fail’. I’ve taken it for this long, but I’m turning the tables – just a little bit anyway. Ready to hear me out?

What about the plans I didn’t know I wanted to plan?

There’s no denying that one of the most cheekiest aspects of life is the tendency for things to just, literally fall into one’s lap. A chance meeting of someone who shares your mutual love for Matcha leading to great chats and endless, future Matcha dates. This person soon becomes a close friend who inspires you to take up Bikram – you didn’t plan for this. What about a sudden realization that studying abroad is an option? In Sweden. You planned on finishing your degree in a flat three years, but you didn’t plan to crave travel, and you weren’t even aware that exchange was even a thing. Good luck fitting that into your concrete, life schedule.

So in that moment, when outside forces start to poke fun at our plans, do we turn a blind eye to everything we didn’t know we didn’t know about (read it again, it makes sense), simply because it wasn’t featured in the original blueprint? I hope not.

In some respects, I feel like a ‘go with the flow’ mindset is a much more fruitful approach to life opposed to the schoolteacher curriculum, ‘planning’ method. Can we live a little?

Be spontaneous, cheeky, playful and willing to let go of the plan.

Someone great once told me ‘If someone asks you to jump in the car, don’t ask where its going, just jump in’. Now obviously, don’t jump in the car if it’s a white ute and the bearded driver is offering lollies to succumb you to join the ride – in that case call 000.

Be aware, but also be aware that there are possibilities you couldn’t even imagine.

Now believe me, I’m no Avril Lavigne, f*$% the system kind of gal, I’m all for playing the game, but I know that the trick is to know the rules so you can break them effectively. It’s a Dalai Lama tactic (no kidding, look it up), so is completely justified, moral and somewhat enlightened – try it sometime.

We can never totally predict what is going to happen, how it’s going to evolve or even if we will still care about the things we do now, in the future. Trying to figure out the world and its crazy ways is impossible, so why try. Choose your battles.

Just embrace the unpredictability like a Melbourne day. Pack a raincoat, some sunnies and your bathers. You’ll either be jumping in puddles or splashing in a pool – either way, its going to be a good time.

Unplan the plan. The end.

Love, S.

P.S Inspiration for this piece came at 7.45am when I was offered a dream internship at one of my favourite brands. I’m trying really hard to take my own advice, deny my previous ‘plans’ for where I thought I was going, and start chasing something I didn’t think of yet. Writing is my way of coping with WHAT TO DO! #halp

I know you can be overwhelmed, and you can be underwhelmed, but can you ever just be, whelmed?

It’s an auspicious question I first came across in my pre-teen, cousin accompanied viewing of ‘10 things I hate about you’ many moons ago, and I have to thank those 90’s screenwriters for posing such a thought provoking interrogation.

Because for many situations, circumstances and presented opportunities, there may many, suitably descriptive words: exciting, nerve-racking, inspiring, motivating, challenging or just really damn cool.

For others though, the term speechless is the only thing I can muster.

You know that adage, which goes something like: “it’s my party and ill dance/cry/eat cold sausage rolls if I want to”?

It’s a thing. This life and everything in it is basically your party, do with it what you will. No one cares.

And in this daily rollercoaster, that I’m probably a tad too short for continues to creep up to the highest peak, I’m not sure how I actually feel about it.

I’m whelmed, and all I can really do is throw my hands up in the air like I just don’t care. All there is to do is enjoy the thrill.

Because on the way down a mega drop, there’s no stopping, pulling out or bailing, all there is to do, is embrace the butterflies, hold the regurgitation of your most recent hot dog and try make a semi-decent face for the inevitable mid-flight camera shot.

You are asked nothing more, than to enjoy the ride.

So do it. Do it well and do it every damn day. Enjoy, race to the end of the line to do it all again and run far from the Ferris Wheel whose circulating view you know far too well.

This life is hec-tos (Elwood housemate slang for hectic), but that doesn’t have to equate to it being overwhelming.

In the face of endless meetings, mountainous weekly readings, demanding assignments, uncooked dinners, treadmill laps, unpacked weekend bags and invitations, reject the need to want to slump in your chair, order another soy latte and complain about being busy.

For me the choice was and continues to be easy.

You can bite off more than you can chew and risk choking on greatness, or nibble on mediocrity.

As much as it might appear that I’m this little pocket rocket whose on fire, never stopping to breathe, sleep properly, take a look outside or step my bare-feet on the grass: truth be known it’s those darn little things that keep me sane.

But, like most of this generation of beautifully spoilt, young, wild and free things: I have been forever seeking to postpone the day when my crazy youth is no longer only as close as a crawl through the Narnia cupboard away.

I think for me, it was this idea that adulthood implies a sense of being ‘done and dusted’– forever to be held in the stuffy under-the-stairs crevice of Harry Potter fame, living in the denial of a better and bright yesterday.

What I never considered though, was that inside the man-hole, could exist yet another door, one I never knew about. A door to some new, magical world I would have never found, had I maintained my defiance of never setting foot in Harry’s place.

I know you’ve heard it before, ‘when one door closes, another opens’, but do you believe it, or just nod ignorantly to the elder that claims to share their wisdom?

Have you ever even really considered its truthfulness?

Because yesterday, on a walk along a beach I never once thought was really ‘that’ nice, I found an incredible sunset, some rocks to sit on and a jelly fish to touch.

In that instant, I finally acknowledged that in every second there’s an opportunity for discovery, an ‘aha’ moment or just a simple appreciation that what you never thought you wanted, might actually be the best outcome.

It’s so easy for us to rest on laurels, stop sprinting when it hurts rather than push for an extra 15 seconds until we’re truly out of breath, and to get complacent in the comfort and happiness of what we know we can handle with ease.

It’s so easy to get comfortable and forget about the big dreams and ambitions we hold.

But haven’t you realized that once children can walk they want to run, and once they learn how to clap or talk they do it endlessly, and faster, and more often, urging anyone around them to teach them more.

When did we get so self-righteous, so doom-oriented, boring, and eager to remain the same old place? Where did that hunger for novelty, and excitement for the unknown go?

That, I don’t know, but I do know it’s creeping back.

Because the truth is kid, enough will never be enough, and you are growing, changing and evolving with every passing second.

It happens to the best of us, whether it be a raging plan that never works out, a tribe of friends that have all conveniently decided to hermit-ize for the weekend, or an overworking job that leaves you feeling tired enough to willingly ‘bench’ this one out; it’s a sad truth, but ‘nights-in’ are an unavoidable reality.

For me, the symptoms of a ‘night-in’ are always the same: I pre-empt the night with a Nanna, rather than a Disco nap (the prefix succinctly defining post-nap activities, #nannalyf vs #discolyf). And this said Nanna nap, turns into a full-blown hibernation lasting almost 3 hours – it was supposed to be a NAP, c’mon Sheesh!

What this terribly timed slumber does for me is two things, two counterintuitive glorious things: It 1) rids me of being tired, and 2) Rids me of being tired just in time for it to be too late to make actual plans.

It’s in that moment of harsh realization that I really begin to ponder life.

I mean, a perfect, summer Friday ‘night-in’, is the perfect antidote for some deep and pensive thinking.

Everyone, well at least everyone except Mum and Dad are out, eating Huxtaburgers, drinking mojitos, mingling, dancing, making memories and loving it. Me? I’m scrolling through the TV programme praying for a roaring movie to be on and checking Facebook every 5 minutes to make sure I’m not missing out on anything too fantastic – I love when people don’t check in, I also love a lack of Instagram posts and no new Snapchat stories, STAY OFF THE PHONE PEOPLE, you are doing wonders for my ego.

After about half an hour of this self-mutilating surveillance of the world that exists everywhere but here, something changes. I’m totally lacking energy, totally detached from the fact that yeah, whilst it’s a ‘night-in’, it could be a great ‘night-in’ at that.

So I take it upon my self to reignite that TGIF splendor, even if it means I remain in my pyjamas for the entirety of it, because there is something about riding a Friday night solo, that is actually quite insightful. Here are the lessons I learnt from the nights I spent in.

Weekend-feel basics.

Sure they may not be heading out for a rager, but parents know how to tune those weekend feels even in the slightest way. While it’s not the most bikini-bod-friendly option, take-away of all sorts does wonders for the soul. No dishes, no meal prep, no worries. It’s the weekend, and that means chill time for all (except the Pizza Man, we need you!).

Windows are open, music is playing and the beers are on the house (literally). You don’t ever need to go too far to feel the weekend vibes.

I really needed this.

Weekdays are often so hectic we don’t notice the little things that need our attention, like:

How long was my room actually going to stay messy for?

That parking fine was almost over-due!

Wow, I totally forgot I left that rotting banana in my bag!

So my sister DID steal my skirt, AND leave it scrunched up on the floor, AND it has a stain on it. Note to self: Must. Kill. Her.

It’s quite bizarre the things you find, realize and do when you have the time to find, realize and do them.

You actually don’t mind Ben Stiller as an Actor.

But I guess, there’s something about ‘There’s something about Mary’ that can turn anyone’s frown upside down. I mean it COULD be worse, you COULD be Ted when he gets ‘stuck’ in the zipper. Poor guy.

When did staying in stop being cool anyway?

Slumber parties were literally the cause of my existence – until they weren’t. Remember the days when your sleeping bag was your best friend and pancakes were a Saturday essential?

Coloured popcorn and movie marathons with friends used to equal the BEST. NIGHT. EVER. I’m not sure when, how or why we decided that wearing short skirts in winter was a better idea than being cocooned in an arctic slumber bag that still smells like grade 6 camp #amirite.

I could do this again next Friday.

It’s the end of the week, FRIYAY! And after 5+ full days of waking up early and being a citizen who contributes to the world, it’s time for some ‘me-time’.

It’s an important trait to have: being okay with being alone. And it can totally be a hoot! Once you get passed the first half hour of wallowing in sadness, reaching for the block of chocolate you know you don’t want (but you’re not going out anyway, so you don’t need to wear a tight skirt, so it’s okay right?) you start reaching instead, for something nourishing, something good, and begin to find that it so easy to feel amazing and great and cool – without the additional extras of a dimly lit dance-floor, a good DJ, a group of friends, and pending bar tab.

Because for tonight, it’s just You + You.

You know You so well, You know what You love, what You feel like, what movie You want to watch, and which book You want to read – as well as everything else there is to know. Cultivate this relationship like you do with your best friend.

Because if there is one person you can truly rely on, someone who will follow you to every corner of the earth and never, ever leave you alone on any Fiday night. It’s you.

There’s nothing like some down time to make you contemplate the things you really love, and on a recent bus ride from Ollantaytambo to Cusco, Peru – which was just that little bit too long – I had just that sort of ‘me’ time.

Prepared for a three-hour journey through the Peruvian countryside, I prayed to my iPod to prepare the best, chilled playlist, turned up my earphones, lifted my legs onto the back of the seat in front of me (smelly feet alert!), and spaced out to the view from my window seat.

There’s something special about some old school tunes that really make me smile from the eardrums out, and as I bumped along to the beat – and potholes – I started thinking about the other, teeny tiny little details, which really make me happy.

I’m not talking big-ticket items like “winning the lottery”, “falling in love” or “landing a dream job”, because these are pretty far and few between. If I thought these big things were the only way to be a happy-go-lucky person, then happiness would always seem another Power Ball ticket, lover and promotion away.

So why not focus on the little things.

It sounds cliché I know, but think about these merry makers. Think of how simple yet totally rewarding they are (hopefully you can relate):

When Coconut water is on sale for no particular reason.

When a waiter brings a big, cold, jug of water to your table without being asked.

Big coffee mugs.

Hearing children speak in another language.

Perfectly made cordial.

Waking up to a sunny day.

Sand between your toes.

Smelling good.

Fresh bed sheets.

Hotel bathrobes.

Hot showers.

Telling a bad joke that gets laughs anyway.

Perfectly ripened avocadoes.

Finishing a book.

These are just a few of my favorite things, and with them, I am the happiest little vegemite in the world.

Sure, the big things are important too, but at least I can experience the bliss from any of the above daily, of my own accord, without relying on some outside source to bestow upon me a $2m prize pool, attention, or a new job.

So what little things ‘float your boat’?

Find a pretty place to sit, grab a pen and paper, and brainstorm the heck out of everything that reveals the cute dimples in your cheeks!

Conjure, remember, reminisce and revive every thing you love, every incy-wincy-teeny-weeny detail, use them and abuse them everyday.

You see, personally, I only need to head to the supermarket and attempt to reach the dried figs on the top shelf to get a perspective on how small I am compared to the world, but there are some places out there, which truly make you feel like an ant.

A teeny tiny little thing that could be washed away in a second. Somehow, experiencing this ant-like state is miraculously liberating: it’s like you are forced to just sit, look and admire with a loving envy at how grand other things are.

Other things like great waterfalls, or more specifically, the Iguassu Falls. A few days ago I truly grasped the said ant-life whilst in Brazil, and this is my story.

I was in Caipirinha Heaven.

Pronounced: kye-pah-reen-ya

It’s a cocktail, it’s strong, and Brazil is literally crawling with them.

Drinking these bad boys is basically a National Standard around this part of the world, so if you choose to visit, you better be Caipirinha-ready for a Caipirinha-good time!

I was basically Jane from Tarzan.

I swear I saw Tarzan a few times, that’s all I’m saying.

But seriously, there are rainbow coloured butterflies flitting around, flirty Macaws who say ‘Adios’ and cheeky little monkeys who literally convince you to pick them up, put them in your pocket, save them for a rainy day and become best friends.

But to really fire up your jungle experience, you should definitely dress like Bindi Irwin, pick a bite-size banana fresh from the bunch on the side of the pathway, carry a walky-talky and climb a Palm Tree to drink your Coconut Water fresh from the source!

Okay maybe don’t try that last one at home, Palm Trees can be really high. But you get the gist: the Jungles are legit!

I abused Watermelon Juice on tap.

Yes, you read right: on tap.

I love you, Breakfast Juice Bar!

I saw ‘those’ Falls.

This isn’t a class on the many ‘Wonders of the World’ so I wont go overboard in explaining just how amazing the Iguassu Falls are, but just so you know, they are kind of a big deal.

A Go-Pro and genuine desire to get completely drenched are necessary.

Iguassu Falls.

Still Falling.

Survivor.

Toucan Pride.

Hi Banana.

Banana not so ripe.

If you too, have ever felt like a cast member from ‘A Bug’s Life’, share your story, we are all friends here.

No matter how small you are, 24 hours in transit, across seemingly endless seas – even with the entertainment of new movies on demand and a new set of Dr. Dre Beats – is never a comfortable experience. I swear I tried every single method of curling up, and leant my head in every way trying to imitate a decent nights’ sleep – all to no feat.

But like every thing that takes time, finally arriving in Buenos Aires, the Argentine capital, and apparently the cultural capital of ALL South America was totally worth it.

As a Spanish student, witnessing the verbs and syllables I attempt so often in class, being applied to the real world was freakily satisfying, and being able to choose from a menu without the anxiety of wrongly ordering steak tartare (raw mince, oops, what?! no tartare sauce? Weh! – True story) is really quite comforting.

But more than the words that litter these streets in conversation, and the weather which is superbly ideal for a gradual tan, in the risk of sounding clichéd – this place is really, very cool!

I’m talking about a country of late-night loving, tango dancing, sweet-toothed, insanely carnivorous people; whose adoration of dulce de leche (the best type of caramel you’ve ever had – and I hate caramello koalas, so that’s saying something about the level of caramel here) seems to have no registration on waistlines – I mean, these people sure know how to, metaphorically, “put it away”.

I should have known, this is after all the hometown of Shakira. And well, “hips don’t lie”.

But apart from the effortless swing of every native hip, this city is one whose Sunday Markets are second to none, whose streets are perfectly flat for bike riding enthusiasts yet whose pedestrian crossings are more like death wishes. There are ‘hoods which will transport you to Paris in an instant, and others which are so colourful and musical that you will legit think you are trapped inside a play-box of lego and tango costumes.

But honestly Argentina, I’d happily be trapped here forever, and if you too, happen to find yourself in BA (code for Buenos Aires), check out these gems of a good time!

San Telmo Markets.

Sundays only folks, but oh, so, good! I spent a solid 5 hours touching every bracelet, llama wool jumper, antique and bag. There’s a lot of arts and crafty type stuff if you’re into it, but have a geez for some cultural immersion. A good beat of music, or stall of food is never more than 10 steps away, so spending a day here is really a no-brainer.

Dulce de Leche.

With alfajores (short-bread style cookies), in crepes, in a cone, mixed with ice-cream, oozing from a cake, or just rubbing it all over yourself then licking it off. Do whatever you can to consume as much of this as possible. It’s mandatory.

Inner-city gardens.

If like me, you love a bit of a tree-change, check out the Japanese garden , the Botanic Garden, or even the Constanera Sur reserve.

Chimichurri Sauce.

Why isn’t this magical sauce a ‘thing’ in Western Society? I am positive it is God’s condiment of choice. Much too good for children! Best with burgers, chorizo, steak, pork, bread, vegetables, chips, pancakes, – ok too far, but you geddit!

The Cemetery.

Sounds morbid I know, but this is actually sick! See below for insight!

Cafe Tortoni.

Just do it. Get a coffee, use the bathroom or just have a look around – it’s kind of a big deal.

Tango.

Self-explanatory! Cha Cha Cha! – Not sure if that’s part of the tango, but yeah, WOO!

Athens: the birthplace of Greek Salad, the stomping ground of Hercules and the humble home of Ouzo. With so many fruits to offer the tourists and the world, I really have no idea why people give good old “Athina” such a bad rap.

Most travellers seem to pry away from the Greek Capital following talks of it being “too dirty”, or “depressing” as a result of the country’s financial crisis. But honestly, take a trip (if possible) and decide for yourself.

I personally love a good Athens session, here’s why!

Greek Yoghurt, everywhere.

Sure Frozen Yoghurt bars have taken over like a bad rash here in Melbourne, but it really can’t compete with the fresh, Greek style.

Some of us spend years, if not a lifetime trying to discover the “best” yoghurt, and those lucky little Greeks are fed it from birth. I may not ever come across such fresh from the pot, creamy, delicate, enveloping, porcelain white goodness, but I can die happy knowing that I did enjoy a few cups, topped with some outrageous honey and a few pistachios just for fun. If you are lucky enough to find yourself craving this treat in Athens, you just have to check out Fresko Yoghurt Bar! So good!

Image by @lmb_notherone via Instagram.

Soccer – Gate 7 Style.

If possible, find locals, become best mates and convince them to take you to a soccer game.

I thought my dad’s friends were a bit fanatic when it came to the AFL grand final, but a glimpse of Grecian Soccer within the renown Gate 7 area of utmost fanatical soccer-goers, puts even the Collingwood die-hards to shame.

I’m talking 3 hours of endless chants, flares and fireworks. My ears are still ringing, but I like it.

Image by tasosmikronis via Instagram.

Flea Markets.

Minus the fleas. It’s always fun meandering through trinkets and bobbits and do-whats-its. Embrace it and buy something for your mum while you’re at it, she’ll love it.

Image by cartoulespress via Instagram.

History, everywhere.

Places like the Acropolis are older than your grandma’s, grandma’s great grandma! Pretty impressive right?

Image by zmurphman369 via Instagram.

No skimping on the feta!

If the menu says it has feta, you better believe it, and you better like feta, because there is going to be a lot of it.

Don’t be shy, be the feta, love the feta.

Image by frederixz via Instagram.

Bar-licious.

I never would have picked it, but Athens has some of the coolest bars, in.the.world!

It was a cobble-stoned, garlic infused, balmy night that we arrived in Rome, and the days that turned into nights- and vice versa – were no less magically authentic. In the dark, we would chase through the silent, lamp lit avenues with new best-friends, and as morning dawned we would explore this ancient city purely in the direction of our latest gelato cravings. My time in Rome truly was all fun and games, and these are the lessons I learnt.

Know that there is only one place to stay.

And that is: Yellow Hostel.

Like the Colosseum, this place is a Roman Institution. If you’ve ever stayed there, you’ll rave about it to anyone that even drops the Rome bomb on talks of their travel plans, and if you haven’t yet been to Rome, then I’ll be THAT guy (girl) now.

You need to stay here! Besides what you’d think, this place isn’t yellow, the beds aren’t yellow and the reception girls aren’t dressed in yellow body paint. It’s a useless name really, but one you need to remember.

Be completely lured by the bar and outdoor area upon arrival, and be utterly ready to relinquish your attempts at Merlot aided Italian sophistication, in exchange for €1 shots freely poured by your new favourite bartender. Let these run their course and give you the confidence to partake in dance-offs, to the songs that will compose the “EUROTRIP ‘14 YEEWWWWW” playlist you will keep on your iPod forever.

The Yellow.

Skip breakfast.

You’re in Rome, why waste a perfectly good meal opportunity on breakfast when you can go straight for the main attraction. Pizza and fettuccine, I’m talking to you!

There are way too many places offering “the best pizza” on the block, and it seems that homemade pastas are a standard procedure. My best advice is to see if Nonna is out the back whipping up her traditional Bolognese. Yum!

Breakfast of Champions.

Pop bottles.

Water bottles that is, and take advantage of all those random water fountains streaming pools of ice cold H2O.

Acqua Fresca!

Try before you buy.

This is a universal rule, but even more vital when it comes to gelato.

Always, always try, and if they didn’t give you enough on the taster spoon, try again, you’ve only got two scoops, make them 2 to remember.

Memorable scoops.

Make yourself at home.

Hostel style.

When it’s disco-nap time, it’s disco-nap time, and a disco-nap requires all the love it can get.

Most of the time, the world keeps going when nap hour begins, so you are generally free to dominate the dorm room. Our favourite plan of attack was to place all of our mattresses in the middle of the room and have a good old afternoon spoon, or Siesta – call it what you want.

When annoyed dorm mates enter and object to your dictatorship over the 12 bed room, just ask them if they want to join – they are probably just jealous. In the off chance they reject your offer, pretend to fall back asleep.

DIY bedding arrangements.

Cover up.

Against popular demand, all churches and religious places worth seeing require a huge lack of skin on show. In the risk of spending unnecessary cash on a nun-length dress you will never wear again, or worse, wearing pants on a 34C day, grab a scarf and wrap it around a few times.

Voilà! New skirt, with the added functionality of being twirled off and stuffed back in your bag immediately after you exit the Vatican.

After all, you need to let those legs breathe, and that tan to keep developing. Thank me later.

Respect.

Ask for a skinny latte.

Just for fun. Know this, Skinny Milk is not a ‘thing’ in Italy. Go fat or go home!

No chance in skinny heaven.

These are the commandments, if you’re in Rome, you must follow accordingly.